


Pitiful Children

by Lady_Origami



Series: To Forgive, Divine [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Needs A Hug, Crime Fighting, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Fluff and Angst, Gavin Reed Redemption, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson Swears, M/M, Mystery, Panic Attacks, Protective Hank Anderson, Protective Upgraded Connor | RK900, Slow Burn, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Origami/pseuds/Lady_Origami
Summary: The investigation to prevent a virus spreading through the streets of Detroit is under full way as Hank and Connor struggle to fill in the missing pieces. Due to the shortage of active members in the DPD, an RK900 model is sent in to help train and assist the DPD with their investigation for full efficiency. Being his predecessor, Connor is also given the chance to learn under the new android in more advanced sessions. But being a new deviant brings a whole slew of negative emotions to the table that Connor can't understand, and there's more at play than it seems...
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: To Forgive, Divine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1077969
Comments: 19
Kudos: 98





	1. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newcomer turns and all Connor can focus on is the pristine white of his jacket

_“Humans have used the term virus as a common vocabulary when it comes to being sick, but take a look at an actual virus that’s been spreading around Detroit for the past several weeks._

_The red ring virus, named for one of the telltale symptoms it produces, is a virus that causes androids to react irrationally and out of character. Much similar to the Red Ice problem that has been plaguing Detroit for years, it seems the Red Ring might also be a concern among a similar vein._

_What is most concerning about this newly discovered virus is that it is uncertain how it came to be in the first place. The source is unknown. Even worse, its spreading, and officials aren’t sure why. The DPD is currently investigating, but with the new lack in numbers due to androids being recognized as sentient beings, it seems even they might be-“_

Connor turns off the TV with a press of a button on the remote. He trails his eyes around the room, eventually landing on Hank through the glass as the man works at his desk, his mouth full of donut. He taps a finger on the table feeling restless.

Wordlessly, he turns to move over to the counters against the wall, the soft noises of percolating coffee soothing his audio processors. The white noise is nice. The sounds of working, of chatting, of living, it's all...nice. He pours a fresh cup for Hank, making sure to grab a cup of water for himself, or rather, the plant that sits happily on his desk. His hand pushes open the door to exit, the wave of sounds louder now that he steps into the threshold of the lobby precinct. Even though the discovery of the Red Ring virus is relatively new, there’s a strange nagging feeling that gives a sensation like something is eating away at his thirium pump. It seems that they aren't doing enough. It feels like they aren't doing enough.

Connor allows himself to sigh.

Arriving at his desk, he sets down his cup before maneuvering around it to sit on the counter of Hank’s station. The cup of coffee for the man is carefully set down beside him. Hank gives him a nod of appreciation, a grumble tumbling out of his lips as he leans back in his seat with an aggravated sigh.

“Lieutenant? I thought Captain Fowler intended for the Red Ring virus to be kept under wraps a little while longer until we were able to discern anything more concrete.

Hank snorts in response, grabbing his coffee. “First rule about the media Connor, they are relentless.” He grumbles, taking a sip while dusting off some crumbs from his jacket with the other hand.

“While I think transparency is important, I do wish we had something more to tell them…” Connor says, furrowing his brow lightly.

“Hey, this is something real big. It might even be bigger than us, but we’re gonna figure it out. No need for that.” Hank encourages lightly, eyes flicking up to Connor’s LED.

Connor smiles a hesitant little thing, feeling reassured by the man’s casual confidence.

“You’re right. We’ll figure it out.” He agrees.

“Hell yeah we will. C’mere, let’s run through the symptoms and see if there’s anything else we can go off of. Maybe there’s another link in the cases we can go off of. There’s gotta be something’.”

Connor resists the urge to frown, his positive mood quickly fading at the mention of the symptom list. He quickly waters his plant, recycling the styrofoam cup before coming back around to Hank’s computer. The man is rubbing his chin in thought, a frustrated look gleaning in his pale eyes.

In order to identify an illness, there are symptoms that relay information of what type it could be. Someone with strep has issues of the throat, it hurts to swallow, and can have physical signs once the throat is looked at to validate it. Someone taking Red Ice has known symptoms of aggression. They can become violent, and even have a warped sense of reality. The powder under their fingernails or bloodshot eyes give a telltale indicator of a drug problem. The Red Ring virus is something different. There is only one known official symptom of the virus so far. The android’s function ring at the side of their head; more commonly called the LED, is telling of their active status. But in androids that have been affected by the virus, the light turns a dark crimson red and then it stays that way.

Unblinking and unfaltering.

Connor lightly chews on his lip, a habit he undoubtedly picked up from his work partner. There are hundreds of androids that removed their function ring because of the revolution in an attempt to be free or make a statement The only concrete method they have to go off of has undoubtedly been removed by a good portion of androids.

How can the virus be contained when the only clue they have might not exist on some of the victims at all?

“Connor! In my office!” Fowler’s voice booms from the open glass door.

Hank shares his confusion with a raise of his eyebrow, Connor merely tilting his head in similar befuddlement. He turns to make his way up the stairs and into the captain's office, closing the large glass door. The man in question is rubbing his temples, an irritated sigh heaving out of his mouth. He wordlessly hands out a piece of paper for Connor to take once he approaches the desk.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Connor asks, taking the paper from the man with a befuddled expression.

“We are understaffed.” Is the only thing Fowler says in response.

Connor says nothing to that in reply but there's a strange foreboding about that statement. His brown eyes scan the paper, reading its contents with anticipation. His eyes halt, trailing back to reread the sentence and pausing once more as they trail over a proverbial bombshell. The hand clutching the paler tightens lightly, crinkling the very thing he's reading.

“Connor, I know it might not be an ideal situation for you, but we really do need all the help we can get. Do you understand that? Ever since this entire revolution clusterfuck, we have lost almost more than half of our task force. Everyone is working overtime to try and take care of all of this new shit in the streets, and it's even worse than usual now due to the divided fronts of the public.”

He shakes his head. “No, no I think this could be beneficial to everyone.”

Fowler pauses, his dark eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Really.”

“He is my successor...if anyone can help this case, I'm sure he could. It is as you said, we really could use any assistance at the DPD at this point in time.” He admits gently, his eyes still tracing over a specific couple of sentences.

Somehow rereading the passages don't make the scenario any more clear in his mind.

 _“...and in order to help assist the DPD in these trying times, we at Cyberlife are sending over our finest RK900 model; the latest autonomous android specializing in active law enforcement, to help bring advanced training to the officers of the DPD._ _Please expect his arrival on Monday at 12:00pm sharp._ _Though the future is uncertain, we want the DPD and everyone to know that Cyberlife will always provide the most quality experience for now both humans, and androids.”_

Connor exhales softly, allowing his processor to cycle through the stale air with ease. “Is he a deviant?” He questions, wondering how it could possibly be allowed that Cyberlife still owns models that aren't.

But the laws are still new and flimsy in their hold. Connor isn't even getting paid for his current work, but the fact that he is allowed to choose his own career is a step in the right direction. He has no idea what Cyberlife is doing with the models they still own or were producing. Are the androids in their building still considered property? Technology? Are they allowed to deviate? This is an issue Connor knows Markus is avidly working through, he just wishes there weren't so many confusing grey areas in the meantime.

Too many androids will slip through the cracks this way.

“Hell if I know.” His superior mutters with a grimace.

“I see. Thank you for this pertinent information. I hope the training will go well for all of us and that he can assist us in our case.” Connor replies diplomatically.

“Fine fine, get out of my office.”

As Connor pushes open the door, he pauses to look back at the seemingly indifferent man.

“I really appreciate that you gave me a heads up about this, sir.” Connor says in gratitude, brown eyes shining with sincerity.

Fowler waves him away with a lazy hand. “It’s just protocol.”

“But it actually isn’t as-“

“Just get out!”

Connor likes the feeling of amusement. Everything seems to run just a bit warmer, but not in a bad way. In a way that feels comfortable, like hugging Sumo after a long day at work. He conceals a small smile as he heads out of the office and down the steps back to his shared desks with Hank.

“So, what did dear old Jeffrey want?”

“It looks like due to the lack of proper help right now, we are to be receiving some advanced training and assistance starting today-”

“Hell yeah, I ain’t saying no to extra help.” Hank grins, leaning back in his chair.

“-from an android being sent by Cyberlife. The RK900, my successor model.” Connor finishes slowly, presenting the paper to Hank.

Like a light switch Hank's smile drops in an instant, the man quickly sitting up to swipe the paper from Connor’s hand and read it for himself. His pale eyes grow hardened in anger the more he continues to read, a heavy hand moving up to run over his grey facial hair in agitation. He rereads it again with a glare, eventually huffing out a sneer.

“You gotta be shittin’ me.” He rumbles. "You know, Jeffrey said we were going to get some extra training on Friday but he sure left out some important details!"

“I think it might be alright, lieutenant.” Connor says in reassurance. “We really do need the assistance, and if I trust anyone to help with such a case, I suppose it would be my…” he trails off, feeling like he’s somehow synced up to his own thoughts. “My successor.”

“After everything that those Cyberlife fucks pulled, like hell if I trust em as far as I can throw them.” The man sneers before taking a large gulp of his coffee, crumpling the paper in his hand into a small ball and tossing it in the trash bin beside his desk.

Hanks statement rings true in Connor's eyes as well. He can't help but agree. Everything feels so new still, so fresh to process. Though Hank has taken him in, there are things about Connor's life that still feel like muscle memory in the dark. Things about fulfilling his mission no matter the cost. His continuous disbelief about being a deviant, even now. These emotions he isn't sure how to handle. Simple daily life things that seem to speed up his thirium pump and throw errors on his screen like a particularly snowy night or fresh red roses in a shop window. There are so many things he doesn't understand, and he certainly isn't sure how to comprehend Cyberlife wanting to help after everything that has happened.

Is this an attempt to turn their company into a different direction? Help support androids and make their profit that way instead of creating them and forcing them to submit? He supposes this could be a logical conclusion to where they would have to take their company into the future. He isn't sure how else they'd be able to sustain and keep such a large company if they simply continue to put out android models after the revolution and all of the new changes happening in the city.

And yet, this somehow doesn't make him feel any better about the situation.

Connor is anything but close-minded though. There is much to learn, but he knows in order to be an asset to this team that he should take the RK900's advice and training seriously so he may improve on his own tactics. Being a prototype, there are plenty of things he must lack, and if there are ways he can fill in those gaps to help others, then he will persevere as he always has.

"Says he's coming at noon?" Hank asks with a yawn, dragging a tired hand over his face. "That means there's time for an early lunch quick." the man nods, pushing back his chair to stand.

Hank stretches up to full height with a groan, rolling out one of his shoulders. It really is hard to believe this man had gotten shot simply a month before. Connor counts himself the lucky one that Hank's stomach had barely been grazed with the bullet. The man was up walking around after about a week and a half, and going about his daily life normally. There were still some restrictions for him: no heavy lifting, take walks every day to build up strength again, take medications. There are also restrictions Connor himself has made subconsciously, such as not allowing Hank to eat at Chicken Feed every day for lunch, or limiting his coffee consumption to only two cups a day. Little things like this that can help his quality of life and bring his recovery time up.

"Good thing you packed your own lunch this morning then." Connor says faintly, watching as Hank turns to look at him with a suspicious squint.

"No I didn't."

"Oh, my mistake. I thought the bag in your desk drawer was your lunch." he says with a hint of a smile, playing dumb.

Hank already knows the jig is up. The man groans in resignation, plopping back down into his seat and pulling out the lunch Connor had made him this morning with a sullen frown. If Connor didn't know any better, he might even say Hank looks to be pouting. It's endearing, he thinks.

"Fuckin' deviants." the man mutters as he pulls out an apple from the bag.

"You had a donut just a moment ago, don't think I didn't notice. I certainly don't want to chide you lieutenant, but there's a reason you're not supposed to be consuming those foods." Connor points out, crossing his arms.

"Yeah well, let a guy live a little why don't you."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do, lieutenant."

Hank snorts. "Would you stop with the title crap, I think we're past those formalities at this point don't you Connor? You walk my dog every day and wrestle me, sometimes physically away from my late night TV shows."

He smiles, knowing his eyes crinkle slightly and his mouth tilts in a fashion that is not symmetrical. Hank always seems to draw out his true contentment to wear even just briefly on his face. Hank's eyes soften in warmth at his amused expression, huffing out a laugh before taking a big crunchy bite of the apple.

"Sorry Hank. I'm still learning to figure out how to break some habits." he replies in contentment.

There is a lot happening in Detroit right now. A growing virus, dead leads, a dwindling task force, unrest in the streets. But with Hank around, Connor feels like everything will be alright.

Those thought processes are thrown out the window as soon as a flash of stark white catches his peripheral.

Connor turns his head quickly, feeling his eyes widen and his automatic processes halt for a moment. The RK900 model has arrived early, the tall figure moving into the precinct and scanning the area with a precise motion. Pale ice blue eyes meet his own brown ones and a feeling of unease curls deep into the recesses of his chest cavity. He didn't know what he had expected, but somehow it wasn't anything like this. The android somehow resembles him and yet, not at all. Connor is slightly shocked at the changes Cyberlife implicated. Eye colour change, a taller stature, a broader and bigger frame all together.

The most prevalent difference between them though isn't the frame shape or the eye colour, but instead it's the presence the other gives off. Connor was created to be approachable to others. To be open and kind, to make people feel welcome and safe. The RK900 seems to posess none of these traits. His facial expression is completely neutral as if carved from a block of marble, and he gives off such an intimidating stature that even Connor feels hesitant to approach for a greeting.

The stark almost blinding white doesn't help, Cyberlife's branding shining through in every aspect of his model.

It only makes Connor wonder even more if this android is a deviant. The other certainly doesn't seem to be just at a first glance. Connor hopes his observations and statistics are wrong, blatantly wrong. His fingers subconsciously reach into his jacket pocket, light tracing over the curve of his familiar coin.

He really hopes he could be wrong.

"Hank." he alerts the man softly to the new turn of events, averting his eyes from the intense gaze of the other android. "It seems an early lunch might be implausible."

"Hm? Oh-holy _shit_." the man coughs, choking lightly on his apple. "Holy shit." he repeats blankly, at a loss for words. "That him?"

He's almost ashamed that he feels so much relief when the RK900 begins to turn and head up into Fowler's office for briefing.

"Well Connor, can't say I see the resemblance." Hank drawls with a curl of his lip.

The worst part is, Connor doesn't know if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to a new fic, I'm very excited for it. If you haven't read the first 'story' in the series, it might be a good idea to just so you're a little more familiar about where these characters are starting, but at the same time I believe this could probably be a standalone fic. 
> 
> I just feel if you want a little more insight so far on the Red Ring virus and what happened when Hank got injured, those are both things that are slightly carved out in the previous story!
> 
> A note about pairings: This story is obviously going to focus on the relationship of Hank and Connor. Whether you ship them, or see them as a family, or something in between, I feel this fic will be just fine for you to read. I'm not leaning heavily in either direction of romance nor familial, so I believe both sides might be satisfied as their bond could be interpreted as either. I believe regardless of what you believe, that the relationship between Hank and Connor is very important, so I am aiming to not segregate either party as they have a bond that could certainly be considered as something that transcends a label.
> 
> As always, your feedback and comments are so appreciated and they really do help motivate me so much!


	2. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red roses lead Connor back to a place he thought he wouldn't visit again

“So?” Hanks murmurs, eyeing the silhouettes in Captain Fowler’s office with a wary eye. 

“He seems, different.” Connor says slowly, as if he is parsing through what to say. “-than me, is what I mean. I suppose I wasn't expecting…” he trails off, not actually knowing what to say.

“Yeah. There's somethin’ about him that immediately rubs me the wrong way too.” Hank agrees, giving a derisive sniff.

“That's not what I said.”

“Oh please, that's exactly what you said.” Hank snorts.

“I suppose I am just surprised at the liberties taken to make him seem rather...”

“Off-putting. Creepy. Intimidating.”

“Hank.” Connor chides, not feeling the need to tell the man he secretly agrees.

“Oh, come on Connor, you were stiff as a board when I met you but I certainly wasn't _intimidated_ by you. You looked like a damn puppy even back then.” 

“They must have found that a more welcoming approach was not effective from the data I sent them during my active duty with Cyberlife.” Connor murmurs, feeling a hot well of shame tumble through his processors about all his failed missions.

What they must have thought of him.

“Eh, fuck em anyways. Certainly isn’t a failure in most of our books.”

The pair watch discreetly as the briefing Fowler gives finishes. The RK900 model steps out of the office and immediately turns his head to stare directly at Connor with an intimidating pale gaze. The android makes a purposeful beeline towards him, and Connor immediately gives into the compulsion to stand straighter, putting his hands behind his back in a formal and attentive posture.

“Oh boy…” Hank rumbles in anticipation, pushing slowly up out of his seat.

Before either can say anything, the RK900 is already holding out his hand for Hank to shake, a stiff nod in greeting as his way of saying hello.

“Lieutenant Anderson, I have heard much about you. I am looking forward to helping assist the DPD.” The android says calmly.

His voice is different, Connor notes. Its low, smooth, and flows nice on the ears. Connor doesn't even know if Cyberlife used the same voicebank for his successor, it doesn’t seem like many vocal frequencies match his own. Maybe Hank had a point about his voice being too unassuming and goofy? Perhaps it lacked proper influence potential. 

Had Cyberlife really felt the need to change the prototype model so drastically?

Hank gives a wary look before cautiously shaking the other’s hand. “Guess we’ll see.” Is all he responds back with, barely veiled skepticism in his tone.

And suddenly the attention is shifted onto Connor, cold blue eyes burrowing into his own. The icy blue eyes seem to soften a fraction as they meet, and Connor is more than shocked when the other android offers up his hand completely bare, shining titanium and plastic practically glowing underneath the false skin.

The RK900 wanted to interface.

“It is an absolute honor to meet you, Connor.”

He doesn't know why his stress levels increase at the offering. Markus and many androids use interfacing as a special sort of way to connect with others and to share their story. To show memories and feelings and experiences. Connor has commonly used this skill for his line of work, to discover the truth and probe for the answers even if the recipient didn’t have a say. To use it to connect in this way, with the intent to share vulnerabilities or emotions with the android that has replaced him, this is something his mind vehemently refuses.

It unnerves him.

He has never felt comfortable sharing parts of himself like that, parts he himself doesn’t even know, and he certainly isn't going to do it with a near stranger. He doesn’t want them to see what he was, or even what he is now. Quickly analyzing a compromise, Connor holds out his hand but immediately refuses the prompt that pops up in his vision requesting to interface. Seeing his regular skin against the other’s bright metallic parts is strange, but he lifts his gaze to the other android and gives him a small, courteous smile.

“It's nice to meet you, I hope I can learn a lot from you and that your assistance to the DPD will result in a success.”

They shake hands amiably, and if the other android is surprised that Connor refused and blocked the interface request, he doesn't show it, simply giving another nod before he drops his hand.

“It is my hope that I might be an asset to this team as well, and to you, Connor.”

Connor nods, but the obvious question lingering in the back of his mind can't seem to be quelled.

“What's your name?” He asks politely instead, hoping the answer given will allow him to put a couple pieces together.

RK900 straightens. “I don’t have one.”

That is not a promising start.

“You don’t have one?” Connor presses.

The taller android folds his hands behind his back, looking away from the pair. “I have not personally chosen one yet.”

Any heat that had existed with the need to press the other android into revealing any secrets quickly drains away. Hank gives an aggravated sigh, throwing up his hands in agitation before pointing at the RK900.

“Listen why don’t we just clear the fuckin’ elephant in the room here, are you a deviant or what?”

“Lieutenant.” Connor protests, not wanting the man to take anything too far.

“What! Is that somehow offe- “

“I beg your pardon lieutenant, but I am a deviant.” The other android interrupts, surprising them both with his answer. “Shortly after activation, I was given a packet of data detailing the news so far of our people’s efforts to change the society around us. Cyberlife willingly gave me this information and removed most of my programming that inhibited my own free action. Yes, it is true that I willingly work and assist Cyberlife, but I am aware of the current political issues at hand and do consider myself an individual being.” He nods stiffly.

Connor frowns, taking another look up at his successor. The fact that his counterpart is willingly staying at Cyberlife even knowing everything their ‘people’ are struggling with doesn’t seem right. Perhaps the RK900 is newly deviant, just like him. Maybe he simply doesn’t have enough experience to understand what freedoms and steps he can take now.

If he is honest with himself, Connor isn’t sure he has those answers either.

Their eyes meet once more, which seems to spark something in the taller android to add on a slight amendment. “I am hoping perhaps, the experience working with all of you will also help me discover what I would like to pursue in the future.”

“You have the choice to leave then?” Connor asks him, tilting his head.

The other android nods. “They have given me the freedom to leave at any time. I’ve simply chosen to stay with Cyberlife currently so I may activate the most of my potential and to become a proper asset in many fields.”

This is an enlightening development. Maybe Cyberlife really does understand that in order to save their company, they will need to adapt to the situation at hand. He does wonder what will happen to the androids that were still being designed or midway through development. Connor woke up many models from the warehouse, but Cyberlife is extremely extensive and he is well aware that there must be up to hundreds of android models still left hanging in the balance.

Perhaps like the RK900, those new models will be set free as well once they have been awakened.

“Well look you’re free to pick your own name on your own time, but if you think I’m gonna call you ‘RK900’ every time I see you, you got another thing coming.” Hank breaks the light silence, crossing his arms and shifting his weight casually.

“I suppose that could be rather awkward, wouldn’t it?” his successor agrees mildly.

Connor was immediately given a name at Cyberlife. Every time he returned to the Cyberlife headquarters he was even scanned in and processed as “Connor Model” instead of his number. It was an indicator of how unique he was, and how new they had approached his innovation. Which is why, it is more than confusing at how different of an approach Cyberlife took with his successor.

Said successor simply gives another minute nod of his head. “You’re free to call me Nines. Perhaps it is not original, but I hope it will suffice as a name for now.”

“Nines it is.” Hank agrees, a small flash of relief in the man’s eyes at the RK900’s more personable behavior. “Well Nines, you’re almost an hour early. I don’t know what Fowler told you, but if you have questions, feel free to talk to us.” Hank offers, before turning to sit back down at his desk fully intent to start eating his lunch.

“I appreciate that.” Nines responds, turning his attention back to Connor.

It’s nice, Connor thinks, of the man to extend that offer. Maybe Hank understands that not everyone will be social with another new android in the office. Tensions are plenty high already. Though Connor likes to think that most of the officers he sees on a day to day basis are comfortable with his presence, that doesn’t mean there isn’t still an unspoken wariness with androids. Even though their presence is becoming more accepted, that doesn’t mean there is a willingness to actively socialize.

Times are changing, but they aren’t changing that fast.

“If I may be honest, the reason I came before arrival time was because I was hoping to talk to you Connor.” Nines admits honestly, showing no sense of embarrassment.

He blinks, tilting his head lightly.

“What did you want to discuss?”

“As your successor model, I have many questions I was hoping to converse with you about, as well as the potential to learn from each other. You are an advanced prototype; therefore, I do not think the general training classes I will be helping administer to the DPD will assist you much. I believe it could be a beneficial connection for us, as I feel there might be no other android who would know me better than you.”

Nines is very honest and forthcoming, making no hesitations about hiding any sort of goal or intention in his words. Even Hank seems to sense the genuine bluntness from the android, rising his eyebrows lightly in interest as he takes a bit of his apple. Connor doesn’t know what to make of it. A connection with his successor. Surely as he thought initially, Nines must be very advanced and hold a lot more data than Connor. He’s just a prototype, after all. There must be much he could learn from the android that is technically the finalized version of what he was supposed to be. For some reason, he still feels on edge about the idea. It doesn’t seem fair to judge Nines this way. Connor knows this most of all. Markus trusted him when he didn’t deserve it. After everything he had done, everyone he had harmed or almost harmed, to trust Connor after all of that is a sign of true strength.

Perhaps he should be willing to extend his hand to Nines as well.

He nods, eyes warming slightly to convey he is open to the other android’s hopes. “Yes, let’s talk.” He agrees. “Shall we go find a free room for a quick conversation?”

Nines gives a wordless agreement, giving a quick scan before beginning his trek away from the desks and towards an open interrogation room where they could talk in a less crowded environment. As Connor begins to follow, a hand grabs his wrist halting his progress. He turns to see Hank giving him an expectant stare.

“Connor, you tell me the moment you think something’s off with him, alright? You come to me.”

There’s a warmth that surrounds him at Hank’s concern, giving him a nod of reassurance. “I will lieutenant, but I think-perhaps we might be misjudging him. He might simply be as lost as everyone else. I’d like to extend my trust to him to show that we are open to communicating.”

Hank nods at the possibility, releasing his grip with a comforting squeeze before turning back to his work. “Might be…might be. I’ll be finishing my lunch and then calling in on the Broger’s case to try and get more details about who all occupied that house before the murder.”

“Very well lieutenant. I’ll be back soon.” Connor nods, giving the man a parting smile before turning to reconvene with Nines.

The other is waiting for him expectantly across the room, leaning against a wall. Nines looks so comfortable in his skin, even with his sharp eyes and intimidating stature assessing his environment. Connor greets him once more once he’s in range, placing his hand on the scanner to access authorization to open the door. The two head inside, and it’s immediately noticeable at how dim the room feels. They’re on the opposite side of the interrogation room but looking through the one-way glass and into the room itself brings back unpleasant memories. Forcing Cortez’s android to confess and then watching it slowly self-destruct in the holding cell is something he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to.

But he wasn’t in that room now. He’s on the other side. This isn’t an interrogation; this is just a quick chat getting to know someone who is like him. That’s all this is.

“Are you comfortable with the name Nines? I’m sorry, we certainly didn’t mean to pressure you into anything. We can call you whatever you’d like.” Connor starts out politely, wanting to make an effort to seem understanding and open.

“I am comfortable with that name. It might not be the name I choose to have later, but I feel this is a fine title for now. As I said before, I believe we could be helpful to each other, Connor.” Nines starts, his blue LED lightly illuminating his face in the dim lit room. “Us both being the same model line and highly specialized, I have a theory we would be able to connect to each other and converse from larger distances. I could assist you on cases even if I was not physically there.”

“Many androids already have the capability of long-frequency discussion.” Connor replies, not understanding what Nines is trying to imply. “Is there something different you are referring to?”

Nines nods. “Have you been into your Garden lately?” 

Connor’s breath momentarily cuts out, the strange habit he’s been so used to doing suddenly silencing his natural rhythm. “The- “he interrupts himself, finding his words have disappeared.

“Your Garden. You are aware you can still access it, even if you are not connected to Cyberlife, yes? It is a special server feature that only we seem to have.”

“…Is that so?” Connor says faintly, clasping his hands behind his back as an effort to maintain some sort of poise.

No, he was not aware of that. Mainly because he never wanted to see his frozen wasteland of a Garden, or Amanda’s disdainful sneer ever again. It’s not logical, he knows this. He had found a backdoor out of it, and he knows he’d be in full control if he ever re-visited that place.

“I have a theory that because we both have an internal Garden dedicated for connection, that it would be possible that you and I could actually connect to each other. For instance, I could visit yours and even watch through your eyes as you are on a mission, actively giving you any advice from what I could see. It would be more than a simple open dialogue connection most androids use. With this we would be able to see through each other’s eyes in real time.” Nines explains to him more thoughtfully, gesturing his hands slightly in emphasis at the possibility there.

It is a possibility; Connor dimly thinks with a slow realization. It’s how Amanda constantly knew immediately the moment he deviated from a mission, or how they locked his muscles in and attempted to control his actions real-time in a last-ditch effort to cut off the revolution from the source.

“I see.” Is all he responds with, his voice thin.

It’s a shameful lack of control and he doesn’t know why he’s behaving this way.

“Your stress levels have spiked up to 77% Connor. I consider this to be dangerously high especially in a conversational situation. I apologize if I have said or done something to make you uncomfortable.” Nines frowns. “Please understand this is all your choice.”

Connor knows that. 

He does. 

He nods quickly, shoving one of his hands into his jacket pockets to fiddle with his calibration coin. “No, no you haven’t done anything, don’t worry.”

“I feel as if I crossed a line surely.”

“I- “Connor starts, calmly shutting his mouth once he realizes he doesn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry. I simply have a lot to process.” He says with the smallest smile, looking down at his feet. “Is it true, that you really are a deviant? That Cyberlife allowed you to freely go?” he asks, looking up lightly at the other man.

“Is that what you are concerned about?” Nines asks softly, a sadness forming in his pale blue eyes.

Really, Connor probably would have had a good indicator of that already had he just looked at the other’s LED. Currently the colour is yellow, rapidly flickering indicating a lot of continuous and heavy thinking. Once again, Nines tentatively offers his hand to Connor, the synthetic skin slowly peeling away to reveal the glowing blue circuitry just underneath firm plastic and titanium.

“I wanted to show you before.” Nines tells him gently. “How it all came to be. I am more than willing to show you my entire life so far and how Cyberlife has treated me, but you didn’t accept during our first greeting.” The android replies, no anger or judgement in his tone.

“I’m…sorry.” Connor says choppily, not understanding why his hand is shaking as he lifts it out of his pocket to hover over Nine’s offered palm.

Seeing his smaller hand tremble above his larger successor’s steady and inviting one only makes him feel more worthless. He can’t even interface on this level. There’s a devastating fear that coils deep into his gut about the emotion that will leak through the connection. He doesn’t want others to see anything about his life. About his failures. About his triumphs.

He doesn’t want to see the look in their eyes when they realize how much of a failure, he is at being a deviant, and how much of a failure he was as a prototype.

“I can’t.” he eventually says, pulling back. “I’m sorry.”

“You seem to have a strange habit of apologizing for things that don’t require an apology.” Nines notes absent-mindedly, a furrow deep set into his brow.

He’s made Nines frustrated.

There’s a scattering of silence. Here in this dark room, where the only colour Connor can see is the thoughtful flickering of the other android’s LED and the flickering yellow light that must be his own LED reflecting off of the other’s face, he feels shame well up into his veins. Nines has been open every step of the way, even offering to interface to show his story and Connor apparently can’t even seem to find the respect to offer the same.

It really is shameful.

“Connect to my Garden.” Nines says suddenly, their eyes meeting at the offer. “This way, you can simply watch, and I can feed you my data without you having to feed me yours.” He offers, lightly touching his fingers to his LED. “Please Connor, I wish for you to feel my intentions are not to harm. I do understand your hesitation. If you would simply prefer to converse, I will not push this.” The other tells him respectfully, kindly even.

Connor can only find sincerity in the blue eyes of his successor. He needs to at least be willing to do this. He blinks when there is a prompt that pops up in his field of vision, an askance to allow a connection to the RK900 model. A small part of Connor knows that even the manual question was created by Nines so he could officially consent to the connection. Normally an android could just seek out the open channel or server and connect that way.

Inhaling, he closes his eyes and accepts.

When he opens them, his vision is flooded with light. It causes him to squint, his visual processors quickly adjusting to the outdoor sunshine. There’s white everywhere, blinding from the sun bouncing off the pillar and path surfaces. There are the faint sounds of doves chirping, the rustling of trees and fauna. Connor takes a couple of shaky steps along the stone pathway, the familiar route inciting a stressful déjà vu scenario within him.

He hasn’t been back here since they trapped him inside of it.

“Connor.”

He turns around at the sound of Nines calling to him, seeing his successor standing in the center platform surrounded by water. The other man holds up a single hand in a semblance of a wave before his arms cross as he waits for the other to get closer. Connor turns inward to follow the path of white that leads to the inner island. He gazes downward to look at the lily pads and pond moss and finds them almost pleasant, trying not to think of the familiar steps he has taken so many times before.

This was always where he used to meet Amanda.

“Connor?”

He lifts his head, watching Nines gaze at him with a befuddled expression. The other android seems no closer than he was when Connor first started walking on his path. Apparently, his steps had paused on their own, his body unconsciously refusing walk into what used to be a common reminder of his failures.

“It’s just us.” Nines assures him after a moment.

Connor nods. “Yes, I believe you.” He calls to the other more confidently than he feels.

That’s what he says, but there is an underlying current beneath his skin that feels like its going to burst out of him at any moment and shake him until he’s fallen apart. He doesn’t’ know why his body and mind are responding in such an illogical manner. None of this should matter. He forces himself to keep walking, keeping an eye on the taller android waiting for him.

His eyes cannot help but drift to the red roses that are behind Nines. They always did contrast heavily against the white trellis they grew on. He exhales forcibly, ignoring the way his thirium pump staggers at the sight of the crimson colour. 

She was always pruning those roses.

The roses feel far too close when he finally reaches Nines and Connor needs to forcibly turn his back to them to try and get them out of sight. He watches as Nines activates a giant holographic screen, the two look up lightly as it hovers against the blue sky. The taller android taps his fingers to his LED once more and suddenly Connor is watching in vivid detail how Nines first activated. It’s fascinating to see life through another android’s eyes, it was something that had always piqued his interest whenever he had to interface on duty. 

What is must be like to experience life through their eyes.

A flash of white moves in his peripheral and the amount of fear that ripples through his body is akin to an electric shock. He whips around in a desperate attempt to keep an eye on whatever is moving, his systems suddenly heating up. His posture is coiled, ready to spring at any moment to fight. Fight for his life just so he can survive another day.

Where is it?

Where is it?

_Where is she?_

The roses. She must be behind the roses.

There’s another flash of movement and he wrenches his body around to face it. The flapping of wings. Be logical. Be logical. It’s a dove. It’s just a dove. Maybe the first was a dove as well. A small voice in his head is shouting at him to calm down but his chest feels too tight and everything is running hot. All he can see is crimson blood against the white snow and then she’s there watching him with disappointment and vitriol dripping from her dark eyes.

“Connor!” Nines exclaims.

He wrenches out of the connection with a grunt, back into the dark room. His feet stumble backwards until his back slams against the wall, heaving gasps from his body as his hand fumbles against the cold wall. Nines is blinking, lightly shaking his head as he disconnects from the zen garden to follow his frightened predecessor. The other’s LED flickers red briefly and it consumes his face, his pale blue eyes looking at Connor and reflecting that vivid shade of red instead.

He feels fear.

“Connor _wait_ -your stress levels- “Nines approaches him in clear worry flashing in his eyes, a hand reaching out towards him.

His hand blindly finds the panel and his palm clumsily smashes against the scanner to open the door. He flies out of the room, not knowing where he is going. He tries not to draw attention to himself as he walks, but the pace of his stride is too face and he’s breathing heavily when an android doesn’t need to breathe in the first place. Desperate to get out of the foot traffic and away from open room plan, he ducks into the break room and around the corner of it.

His back hits the wall and he breathes, focusing on the sound of his artificial exhalations. He’s staring down at nothing, feeling the brick underneath his hands as he forces himself to calm down. She doesn’t exist here, not anymore. They can’t touch him. They can’t hurt him. They can’t force him to hurt anyone else.

“Hey.” A familiar voice cuts through his thoughts.

Connor lifts his head to see Gavin staring back at him, his olive eyes looking concerned. He’s leaning against the break room table, probably nursing his fourth cup of coffee around this time. The relationship with Detective Reed has certainly improved. Connor might not say they would label themselves as friends, but there is a mutual respect between the two that has only continued to grow with some time.

“You alright?” the man asks casually, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as he eyes up the other’s state.

He weakly nods, feeling his shoulders shake with the attempt to hold back some sort of emotion he doesn’t want to identify. His eyes go back to the floor. 

“Sorry Detective, I just-need- “he fumbles with his words, his voice coming out thin and weak.

“Where’s your coin?” Gavin asks blandly. 

“In my-it’s in my pocket.” He mutters in confusion.

The man hums. “Well maybe you should take that out.”

Maybe he should.

“Don’t need you passing out on me idiot, I don’t want to be held accountable for that. You know they’d all blame me.” Gavin continues but there’s no heat his insult, it’s simply his way of attempting to help without overly crowding him.

His fingers fumble with the coin in his pocket. There is a small comfort as he runs his pointer finger around the ridge of it. The familiar size and shape to it is a constant in his life that never changes. Connor pulls it out, automatically flipping it from his thumb with a small ping. The sound is instantly cathartic to him.

He doesn’t notice Gavin keep an eye on him intently for a few moments before turning back to the television. The sounds of the break room are soothing. Fresh coffee being brewed, the dim sounds of the television playing, the small pings of his coin. After awhile his chest stops feeling so tight, and his stress levels have significantly dropped.

Connor allows himself to take a deep breath just on principle, noticing Gavin idly turn his head to him at the noise. He gives the man a grateful smile. 

“Thank you, Detective Reed.” He murmurs.

Gavin simply holds up a hand briefly in acknowledgement, taking a sip of his coffee. “Mondays am I right?”

Connor exhales. “I think I’m starting to understand what you all mean now about your disdain for this particular weekday.” He mutters. “Mondays.” He breathes out slowly.

Mondays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like two or three times longer than the first haha hoping to generate some proper interest since the first chapter was a tad short


End file.
